Blame The Coffee
by Queenhaq
Summary: Tony and Pepper have a conversation.


This is not the first time he's touched her naked back – she remembers _that_ night all too well. It was a night of many firsts for the both of them: first time they danced together; first time they almost kissed; unfortunately, inot/i the first time he left her behind because something else came up.

"Don't tell me," he whispers in her ear, his fingers slowly caressing up the length of her spine. "This dress was another birthday gift from me."

She turns around to face him and, as always, he's smiling at her. No, not smiling. Smirking. Like he somehow knows she bought this dress – if one can even call this flimsy piece of yellow fabric that – with him in mind. And that he knows _exactly_ what she looks like without it on. Her pulse quickens a bit and anxiety surges through her but she'll be damned if she lets him see how much he affects her.

Meeting his flirtatious gaze, she quirks her eyebrow. "Unfortunately, you're not that generous."

"Too bad."

"Tell me about it."

He moves in closer, she leans back, and now she's trapped between him and the bar behind her.

He looks like he's thoroughly enjoying himself, and not that she would ever admit it to him, but so is she.

"Remember the last time we were at one of these shindigs?" he asks, swallowing the rest of his drink before he pounds the empty glass on the bar.

"No," she lies, smiling. "Should I?"

"You made me a thousand promises that night; you carried me away to the rooftop. We made sweet, sweet love all night long," he says with an exaggerated wistfulness that makes her chuckle. "Ring any bells?"

"No, not really. Guess you weren't very memorable."

"Oh, how she wounds me!" he declares dramatically.

"You'll get over it, Iron Man."

It's the first time she's actually called him that since he publicly announced his new identity. From the way his eyes darken with excitement, he realizes it too.

"You like the name, huh? You like the suit too? I'll wear it tonight if you want. I'll have to tinker around with it a little bit. Make it more _flexible_ in certain regions-"

"That won't be necessary," she smiles.

"I don't mind indulging your kinky fetishes."

"I'm sure you don't."

"What do you say we get out of here?"

"I don't think so."

"Give me one good reason why not."

"Because I work for you."

"I could've sworn I fired you."

"You did. And then you rehired me when you realized no one else would bring you coffee in the middle of the night."

"Damn my coffee habit."

"Yes, let's blame the coffee."

"What would you do if I kissed you right now?"

"You wouldn't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you know I would quit if you did."

"I know no such thing."

"Liar."

"I don't lie at a fundraiser."

"Since when?"

"It's something new I'm trying."

"Well, that's very ethical of you."

"Isn't it?" he grins. "Aren't you proud of me?"

"Very. How long are you planning to stick with these new rules?"

"Until something new comes along."

"Which can happen any second now."

"I know. That's why you should distract me. Keep me occupied or something."

"And how do you propose I do that?"

His gaze drops to her mouth as he flashes a suggestive smile. "Tongue twisters?"

"I was never very good at those."

"I could teach you."

"You could."

"Or we could keep things simple and just make-out."

She laughs softly. "You don't give up, do you?"

"Only when I get bored."

"And when do you think that'll happen?"

"With you? March 10, 2091."

"Then it's a good thing I already have plans that night."

"Ms. Potts?"

"Mr. Stark?"

"What will it take for you to kiss me?"

"I would have to be drunk."

"Bartender," he calls out without wavering his gaze from her. "Get me a dirty martini with three olives and a scotch on the rocks."

"And you would have to be sober."

"Hold the scotch," he yells without missing a beat.

"But since I don't get drunk and you never stop drinking these days, the chances of us kissing are slim to none."

"Sex wouldn't be any fun if you were passed out."

"We weren't talking about sex."

"So you don't want to be drunk when we have sex?"

"_If_ we have sex."

"_When_," he corrects her with a quiet arrogance that should irritate her but, instead, only serves to excite her more. "Any other list of demands, Ms. Potts?"

She's not sure what possesses her to do it. She knows it's a bad idea. She hasn't touched that part of him since she helped insert the new battery into his "heart" but she finds herself leaning forward to caress the spot. She can feel the circular piece under his shirt, can hear the hitch in his throat as her fingers trace the metal.

Before she can stop herself, she grips the lapel of his suit to pull him close and murmurs in his ear, "_When_ we have sex, Mr. Stark, I refuse to call you Iron Man. No matter how much you beg me to."

Refusing to give him a chance to respond, she quickly ducks under his arm and starts walking away.

The entire time, she can feel his eyes boring into her back.


End file.
